


Girl Anachronism

by jeffersonhairpin



Series: The Fame [3]
Category: Call Me By Your Name (2017), Call Me By Your Name - All Media Types, Call Me by Your Name - André Aciman
Genre: Elio is a good step-father, Fluff, Future Fic, He's still hip, M/M, Musician Elio Perlman, Oliver is feeling his age, Teen Angst, emo stuff, i guess?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-03
Updated: 2020-12-03
Packaged: 2021-03-10 02:53:53
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,868
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27857865
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jeffersonhairpin/pseuds/jeffersonhairpin
Summary: “Elio,” she finally says, breathless and nervous. “I uh—You weren’t supposed to be home yet.”Elio, for his part, just tilts his head and smiles with surprised curiosity before crossing his arms and leaning against the doorway.“Was thatMama,by My Chemical Romance?”Or, set in current times (without Covid) Oliver is feeling his age and his daughter needs Elio's advice - they both do, whether they realise it or not. Can be read standalone, I think?
Relationships: Oliver/Elio Perlman
Series: The Fame [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1719049
Comments: 13
Kudos: 39





	Girl Anachronism

**Author's Note:**

> Hello! I don’t know if it’s good but this has been collecting dust for some time so I figured I'd finally finish it and put it out. Please enjoy grumpy Oliver and slightly dramatic Grace :')
> 
> Songs are: [Mama,](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=JrMOL0FAC1g), [Girl Anachronism](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8s1ST8zJChc), [Coin-Operated Boy](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=5vMhixPk3s4)
> 
> I hope you like it!

Elio still doesn’t work regular hours, so it’s unusual for Grace to be certain she has the house to herself on any given afternoon.

He’s been in LA visiting Stefani over the last week and he usually visits her dad at his office before coming home from the airport though, so she figures she’s safe with her brother out with his friends.

She stares in the mirror, studying the outfit she bought with her allowance, and snuck into the house.

Black puffy tulle skirt, torn fishnets, black corset and near-black lipstick, platform boots… 

It’s not a look anyone would expect from her, she knows, and she knows it’s outdated by _many_ years – it might have been cool in 2006, but it’s 2020 and people know this stuff is cringy now…

She just wanted to try it though. 

Nobody needs to know that shy little Grace Lachman is dressed like an emo ballerina for her Tuesday afternoon.

She smiles wide at the look in the mirror, swaying side to side and studying the way it plays with the lines of her form, which she usually finds so lacking – it makes her feel a little giddy; not like herself. It’s so far from her usual attempts to imitate the trends her friends always look so good wearing…

Her smiles dims a little at the knowledge that nobody will ever get to see her this way. She’s sure she’s never going to have to confidence to wear something so outlandish anywhere but her room. 

She wouldn’t even wear it _here_ until she was certain everyone was out…

She’s been singing to herself for forever, but it’s only recently that she’s begun considering actually _doing_ something with her voice.

She wants to try experimenting with writing songs – maybe something darker or alternative, but she just doesn’t have the confidence to perform it even if she does, and the thought brings her down.

She knows she has about an hour before anyone is likely to be home, so after tiptoeing to her door to call out to see one last time if anyone is home, she turns on her Bluetooth speaker and begins blasting the music she never allows anyone else to know she listens to.

Growing up with Elio around has made her a tiny bit less fearful of what others thought for a long time, but Max is in such a _gremlin_ phase right now, and Grace just doesn’t want to deal with his little jabs if he finds her taste embarrassing.

After determining that she is truly alone Grace sets an alarm for half an hour and dances around her room to My Chemical Romance.

She’s been dancing for maybe ten minutes when a pillar of light appears in her dimly lit room and startles her. 

She lets out a humiliating shriek of panic and covers her mouth, turning to see Elio in her doorway studying her outfit with his mouth open like he was about to say something when the sound died in his throat.

Grace pauses for barely a moment before rushing over to fumble with her phone and pause the music.

Then she hurries over to the bed to snatch up her dressing gown, quickly covering up before turning around with cheeks that are _burning._ She remembers her lipstick at the last second and wipes her mouth on her sleeve, heedless of stains in her panic.

“Elio,” she finally says, breathless and nervous. “I uh—You weren’t supposed to be home yet.”

It sounds like she’s making an excuse.

Elio, for his part, just tilts his head and smiles with surprised curiosity before crossing his arms and leaning against the doorway.

“Was that _Mama,_ by My Chemical Romance?”

Grace’s blush deepens impossibly. 

“Yeah,” she says with an unconvincing shrug, trying to brush it off. “It’s a good song.”

“It is,” Elio agrees, still surprised. “I just didn’t know you liked them – what are you _wearing?”_ he asks with a giant smile, coming in and pulling at the robe.

 _God, take me now,_ Grace begs silently.

“Where have you been hiding this?” Elio exclaims as he takes in the ensemble.

“The back of my wardrobe… I just wanted to see what it would look like,” Grace says defensively, pulling the robe back closed and taking a step back, wrapping herself up tighter.

“Hey,” Elio says, raising his hands and smiling. “I’m not saying it’s bad – it looks great on you – I’m just surprised, is all; it’s… you know, not your usual kind of thing.”

And Grace deflates at that. 

“I know,” she sighs, sitting on her bed and slumping her shoulders, removing the rest of the lipstick with her sleeve. “I didn’t want anyone to see.”

Elio tilts his head at that.

“…Why not?” he asks, confused. 

Honestly, she understands his confusion.

She remembers Elio appearing in her life and how strange it was at first, seeing her father with someone so clearly a number of years younger than him – and a _man_ at that. She remembers overthinking every interaction with him for months, in her timid, childlike way…

And then the ice was broken when she asked about his music, and everything was so much easier from there.

The truth is that nowadays there are things she feels comfortable talking about with Elio that she would never talk about with her Dad or her brother… a few she’d even avoid talking about with her Mom.

Elio being younger and being who he is has helped her feel like there could be an open dialogue without guidelines to be adhered to, even as time has gone on and he’s entered his thirties, with his forties not all that far off now…

There’s just something about this kind of self-expression that’s made her more wary even than when she asked Elio about sex when she was twelve, or when she called _him_ to get her pads when she got her first period at her Dad’s house instead of at her Mom’s.

“I don’t know,” she finally says, in answer to his question. 

“Well… I do know,” she corrects. “It’s… embarrassing. Everyone else is like, doing squats and learning how to contour – and there’s nothing wrong with that stuff, obviously, I just…”

Grace sighs.

“What _I_ am fits in better with like… old emo stuff, than what’s cool now. It’s cringy now but I still think it’s cool even though it’s embarrassing, and I’m all pale and scrawny so… it fits me better than what’s cool now. But I feel like I can’t show anyone because it’s not cool anymore and it hasn't been long enough to be vintage.”

Elio widens his eyes briefly and sits down on the bed next to her.

“I feel like there’s stuff to unpack there,” he says, puffing out his cheeks as he releases a breath.

Grace bites her lip, nervous but eager to hear what Elio has to say.

“Well obviously first of all, nobody gets to tell you what’s cool,” he begins with a pointed look. 

Grace rolls her eyes, but it’s clear to Elio that she needs a lot more reassurance than that – honestly, this conversation has been a long time coming. 

The fact that she thinks he hasn’t noticed that she doesn’t really like many of the things she pretends to be into around her bratty friends…

 _Kids, sometimes,_ he thinks, struggling not to feel old as he continues.

“Second, there are still lots of other people who think this stuff is cool,” he insists. “The culture isn’t _dead._ Maybe some people think it’s cringy because they were into it in an awkward phase of growing up – and you might feel that way later – but that doesn’t mean you shouldn’t explore it. You never know where it might lead you…

“If I hadn’t followed your Dad halfway across the world and given Stefani’s scene in New York a chance, Lady Gaga would never have happened and all of our lives would be different.”

Elio realises a moment too late that it may not have been the right thing to suggest that Grace’s life is better because he took chances and broke up her parents’ marriage.

“Hey,” Grace says to get his attention upon following his train of thought in the silence following his words. “I’m glad things are the way they are. If you hadn’t met up with Dad again when you did… it would have happened eventually anyway. This is better.”

Elio smiles, not trying to hide how touched he is.

“I’m glad you think so,” he says softly before shaking himself. “But that’s not the point,” he says. “This stuff is _really_ cool. When I was growing up alternative music and culture let people explore feelings they were being told to hide – we didn’t really have much of an internet,” he says with an amused smirk. “It allowed people to experiment with gender expression, with the way they wanted to look and feel outside of mainstream culture… and I think it’s very cool that you’re interested.”

Grace thinks she should have expected a lecture like this – Elio knows about alternative cultures if he knows anything…

But she still feels doubtful at the end. 

“I don’t know,” she sighs. “It feels cool when I’m alone, but around other people it just feels… dorky,” she shrugs.

“I mean… I think you just need to find your people, Grace,” Elio shrugs. “It’s more fun exploring things you like with other people who also appreciate those things, than alone.”

“I don’t know…” Grace repeats.

Elio raises a brow.

“Would you have told Stef to keep all her craziness in her room when no one was home?”

“I guess not, but—”

“See the problem is, Grace,” Elio interrupts, holding her gaze. “That you’re smart.”

She seems confused but appropriately complimented as he continues.

“And smart people think that they know better than anyone else what’s best for them because they’re smart. They think they’re the exception to all the wonderful – _true_ – things they tell other people to make them feel better when they feel embarrassed or uncertain, so they keep themselves in boxes where they feel safe. But you’re not the exception to those things. And you deserve to be allowed to openly like the things you like. And fuck anyone who has something bad to say about that – even Max or your friends… especially Tiffany.”

Grace frowns at first, seeming not to know how to react to the speech. 

A part of her wants to laugh about the jab at Tiffany but she’s mad.

He’s got her pinned in her thinking, though she’s never thought of it that way herself, and she doesn’t like anyone telling her what she’s feeling even if they’re right.

She’s always been so private about her feelings… how did he just _know?_

“Well what about you,” she says defensively. _“You’re_ smart, and you—”

“Oh, I’m not smart, Grace,” Elio states. _“I_ never went to university like your Dad – I just married up so I could spend my days between the mall and the practice room,” he breezes. “It’s not every floozy gets to spend his days lazing about the house and flying to LA to get wine-drunk with a pop star.”

And Grace wants to stay mad. 

She wants to tell Elio that he hasn’t been in high school for _decades_ so he doesn’t know what he’s talking about and bury her feelings down even further and just bring them up late at night, coming to exactly the conclusion he said she would – that other people should pursue their interests and not worry about what their friends say, but that it wouldn’t work for her for this reason or that…

But she can’t help but laugh at his words.

“Fuck you,” she laughs, knowing she can swear around him. “I wanted to be an angsty teen.”

“Too bad,” Elio grins, nudging her shoulder. 

After a moment he leans over to grab her phone off the bedside table and presses play on the music, turning it down low and scrolling through her playlist.

“There’s some good stuff in here – have you heard of the Dresden Dolls?” he asks.

“No,” Grace says, curious. “Are they good?”

“They are – or, they were,” Elio nods, searching and turning on one of their songs.

It starts quiet but quickly it becomes frantic and bombastic and feels somehow _old_ – exactly what Grace was looking for, but had no idea how to find.

“This is awesome,” she smiles, surprised that her derailed afternoon hasn’t ended in disaster. 

“Not all of their songs are this chaotic,” Elio shrugs. “But they’ve got some good stuff… Placebo’s earlier stuff might also be good for you too – great for angsty teens,” he says with a nudge. “Maybe don’t play it around your dad though, it can be pretty explicit sometimes,” he warns, before thinking twice. “A lot of the time,” he corrects. “…Most of the time.”

Grace knows Elio thinks her Dad’s shock horror every time she says ‘fuck’ or mentions something too ‘adult’ is hilarious and ridiculous, and appreciates the way Elio sees her as the fledgling adult she is.

She’s aware that she’s still got growing and maturing to do, but she’s not a _baby…_

“I’ll keep it to my headphones,” she says with a roll of her eyes. “I don’t get it – you guys got together when _you_ were seventeen, what’s he so worried about?”

“Unprotected sex. Drugs, drinking… Starting something serious with an older man when you’re seventeen,” Elio deadpans, raising a brow. 

Grace huffs.

“It's not like I've got guys lined up at my door, and nothing bad happened when you did that stuff. I don’t get it,” she shrugs, confused. 

“I mean…” Elio says slowly, wondering how much he should say. 

He decides he trusts and respects Grace enough to tell her the only slightly amended version.

“I had a few bad years,” he decides on. “Not _directly_ to do with your dad necessarily, but certainly not unrelated… I would have been at university if I hadn’t chased him and he knows that – probably closer to my parents too, and they would have stopped a lot of the bad if we’d been on better terms then.”

“…What’s ‘the bad’?” Grace frowns, intrigued but cautious about whether it’s okay to ask. 

She’s never really heard much about the years before they got back together; she didn’t even know Elio and his parents, who are basically her grandparents, had rough years.

“I don’t know,” Elio sighs. “New York was always great for me, but things in LA were really…”

He trails off for a moment, lost in thought before he refocuses.

“It was still exciting enough at first that it didn’t bother me until I saw your Dad again, but it got worse after that. I was with someone I shouldn’t have been with and it got abusive and being with him made a lot of bad habits seem normal…”

Grace is surprised. She had no idea; he’s never hinted at having any ‘bad habits’ beyond constantly having to swallow his language. 

And she’s never heard about any kind of abuse.

“Abusive?” she says softly. 

“Violent, sometimes – often, even,” Elio shrugs, trying to brush it off a little. “I wasn’t scared of him, and there was something like love there, but it was enough to worry Stef and my parents… Enough to lead to a lot of drinking, and going out, and…”

Elio doesn’t say anything about drugs but he gets the sense that Grace knows enough to understand. 

“Don’t get me wrong, those things can be great if you do them for the right reasons. But I didn’t then, and your dad just wants to raise you guys to be smart enough not to do that – possibly to the point where it could be a little stifling,” Elio gives. 

“But _you’re_ smart,” Grace says.

“Pfft I told you, I’m a trophy husband,” he ribs, taking his chance to lighten the conversation.

“Tell that to your millions of dollars in royalties.”

Elio laughs.

They sit in companionable silence but for the quiet music as Elio goes through the playlist some more. It’s softer when he speaks again.

“I know a cool open mic place where people play stuff like this on Fridays,” he says, holding up her phone playing a new, gentler song by that Dresden band he mentioned. “I could take you this week?”

“Would Dad let you?” she asks, doubtful. “Without him, anyway? He’s been super grumpy lately.”

She’s not wrong. There’s been a lot of grumbling and _‘no’_ and _‘will you just shut the goddamn kitchen drawers’_ lately.

“I’ll try my best to convince him not to come so you can breathe – I guarantee nothing but I’m pretty sure he’ll cave by the time I’m done,” Elio assures with a raise of a brow, and Grace does _not_ want to know what that is supposed to mean. “Maybe I can even sneak you your first drink,” he suggests.

Grace laughs.

“You think it’d be my _first_ drink?” she asks. “What did you think was going on at Tiffany’s when you dropped me off last month? She got in a _lot_ of trouble when her parents noticed their wine missing.”

“I’m scandalised,” Elio says, a humorous glint in his eyes. “None for you then. Grounded.”

“Please!” Grace laughs, excited to get to go out at night.

“Maybe I can convince him to let me share some nice Italian liqueur in the name of culture or something,” Elio says as he stands to leave the room, grinning. “Only because I hate Tiffany and her parents’ stupid wine.”

“And because your parents let you drink basically from birth,” Grace continues like it’s obvious.

“They did no such thing,” Elio lies at the door. “And this song is not about a sex doll, by the way – it’s about loneliness, okay?”

“Okay,” Grace laughs, excited for Friday and unexpectedly happy at the way her afternoon has gone.

Oliver is sitting in the living room revising his syllabus for what feels like the millionth time when Elio and Grace come back in laughing.

Past midnight.

“Oh no,” Elio says upon spotting him, trying to get the smirk on his lips under control. “I’m in trouble – run.”

Oliver is not amused.

“Did you have a good time?” he asks, trying and failing not to sound pissed.

“We did,” Grace offers weakly, her smile faded. “Sorry we’re late… we lost track of time.”

“There were some really good performers there tonight,” Elio offers as an excuse as Grace pushes on up the stairs and leaves him to deal with what appears to be an actual Issue.

It’s silent for a moment while Oliver waits to hear her door click shut.

“You didn’t even call,” he says flatly once she’s gone, clearly in no mood for Elio’s joviality. “She has practice tomorrow, it’s after _midnight._ And I know you let her try the grappa – there are two glasses left out, _come on._ You didn’t even _try_ to cover it up.”

The stormy expression on his face is enough to put Elio on edge, but he’s fairly certain he knows the truth of why his husband is being like this.

“Okay,” he accepts, raising his hands in a placating gesture and taking the papers from Oliver, putting them in a neat pile on the coffee table. 

They’ve never really properly discussed Elio’s role in raising the kids or how much authority he has to allow or disallow things in earnest, but it’s never been an issue before. He’s registered to be able to take the kids out of class and things like that, and nothing has really seemed to rock the boat before. 

This feels like an overreaction to him.

Elio sits down on the couch next to his husband and faces him, studying his set brow and jaw before speaking

“She had one _tiny_ glass,” he says.

Oliver raises a brow, at which Elio tilts his head and thinks.

“…Actually she may have had two before she left, but like I said, _tiny,”_ he argues. “It’s late and she’ll be a little tired tomorrow, but she’s almost _seventeen_ and she can handle it… I thought tonight was important,” he says seriously. “She really enjoyed herself and I thought it was something… formative, that she’d remember, and I didn’t want to cut it short.”

Elio thinks he’s been very diplomatic, but Oliver isn’t having it.

“I don’t want a formative moment in my daughter’s life to be when she drank Italian liqueur with her step-father and went to some goth bar,” he bites out.

Elio swears he feels his eye twitch on the word ‘goth’, but it’s not the most important thing to address.

“…I don’t think you get to control what moments in your child’s life are important to them,” he says slowly, with sympathy, reaching out to put a hand on Oliver’s and trying to smooth things over.

Oliver takes his hand back and snaps.

“I’m the _parent,_ I get some say over how my child grows up.”

Elio resists the urge to roll his eyes.

“Yes, you have _some_ say how she grows up,” he agrees, exasperated. “But if you don’t let her explore these things with us she’s going to do it with someone else – you have more say this way than if you just say no… but you’ll never have the last word. I’m sure _my_ parents didn’t think the course of my life was going to be determined by falling in love and sleeping with a twenty-four year old when I was seventeen, but shit happens!”

This evidently wasn’t the right thing to say.

“They let _that_ happen and then you basically didn’t talk to them for seven years while you drank and partied and slept around!” Oliver exclaims, not holding back. “I don’t want to make that same mistake with my children. You’re in your thirties and you _still_ go out drinking with Stefani sometimes! You never _went_ to university!”

It doesn’t occur to Oliver that Grace can definitely hear him until after he’s spoken.

“…Ouch,” Elio says with a frown.

There’s silence as he calms himself and reminds himself that Oliver doesn’t mean what he said; not really.

He’s just had a clear vision of what he’s wanted for his children and he’s beginning to be afraid of the very real possibility that they could choose something different. 

Elio understands, but he’s still annoyed when he speaks.

“I could try to defend myself and talk about how there’s nothing wrong with what I do, and how you’ve never had a problem with it before, and how going to a performance bar with a trusted adult is _not_ the same as letting your child run off to Rome for a week with an older man you’ve known for six weeks, _who was you_ by the way,” Elio says with a pointed look. 

Oliver has the good sense to avert his gaze.

“I could do that,” Elio acknowledges. “But I know that’s not what we’re really talking about, so can we talk about why you’re actually angry right now? Because to be honest you’ve been a real asshole lately.”

Elio’s tone is short by the end – pure Stefani as one of his brows raises and his gaze holds. He narrows his eyes slightly, knowing he’s right and determined to cut straight to the point. 

His tone is enough to snap Oliver out of his mood and put a guilty look on his face as he sighs, stiff posture slumping.

“I’m sorry,” he says bringing a hand to his forehead. “I _have_ been shitty lately.”

“You have,” Elio agrees without hesitation, before he pauses and his tone takes on a concerned edge. “So tell me what’s wrong.”

Oliver leans back in his chair.

“I don’t know I just…” he sighs. “I just, _feel_ fucking old lately.”

Elio makes a face, confused. 

“Oliver you’re barely forty-five, and you still run every day; how old can you feel?”

“I have _grey hairs!”_ Oliver exclaims suddenly.

…At which Elio finds he has to stifle a laugh. 

“My kids are learning to drink and wanting to go to weird bars and buy _corsets_ and I don’t _get it!_ I’m doing everything I can but things are changing anyway!

“My _joints_ hurt sometimes! My runs are harder than they used to be, I get a hangover from _four drinks,_ and I have to watch how much salt is in what I eat because I don’t want to die of a heart attack like my father did and _none_ of that is a problem for you yet!”

Elio’s urge to smile fades at that, as Oliver’s rant ends and he looks into his eyes earnestly.

“You are _seven years_ younger than me, and I have _never_ felt more aware of that than I have lately,” he implores. “You wouldn’t have stood out being at that bar; _I_ would have.”

Elio takes pause at that.

He’s never really thought about it, honestly.

He’s always been younger than Oliver but they’ve both always been _young,_ and his personality is always the more light-hearted, less mature of the two as it is…

It’s never occurred to him that Oliver would begin to feel himself… _getting older,_ first.

It’s never occurred that seven years was enough of a difference that there would be things he could do for _seven years_ longer than Oliver. That Oliver would feel _middle-aged_ first, that he would want to _slow down_ first, than he would… die first, in all likelihood.

Oliver takes better care of himself but he’s always going to be older.

Elio frowns at the thought.

For a moment the only solution his brain presents is that he should just take worse care of himself so he doesn’t have to live alone for seven years or more, but he knows it’s ridiculous.

“Oliver,” he says, knowing he sounds unexpectedly sombre as Oliver looks up from where he’s been staring at the carpet. “I don’t…”

“You don’t have to say anything,” Oliver says, sounding disappointed in himself. “I should have just talked about it from the beginning or tried to accept it – it’s not anyone else’s fault I’m feeling like this, and I’ve been taking it out on everyone else.”

Elio shakes his head.

“You haven’t,” he begins, reassuring, before reconsidering. “Well… maybe a little. But we all kind of knew.”

Oliver makes a face a that, never liking anyone to read him on something like this, let alone his whole family – like father like daughter in that way.

“Oliver, it’s been pretty obvious,” Elio points out, lightly reproving. “I just…” 

He sighs again. 

“I don’t know, I thought it was just a phase that would pass if I let it be. Everything has been easy for so long, I’d never really thought about how we would be.. getting older together, properly.”

“Shit happens,” Oliver says, quoting his husband minutes earlier.

Elio smiles at that, moving closer to his husband on the couch and enjoying the feeling of not being on the other side from him now.

They’re silent for a long time, thinking quietly.

“It’s scary isn’t it,” Elio says through a breath, leaning his head on Oliver’s shoulder.

“Mm,” Oliver hums, but he’s surprised to feel… less scared, having told Elio about it.

It’s still real, but the burden is less, having shared it with his twin soul.

“You’d think we’d have learned to just tell each other things by now,” he murmurs.

“‘We wasted so many days’,” Elio quotes, transported back to that first summer for a moment. “Well… you can make fun of me when I start to feel old,” he bargains with a serene sigh.

“You’ll never feel as old as I do,” Oliver chuckles softly, leaning over to kiss his husband.

Elio hums contentedly through it, before standing and holding out his hand for Oliver to take.

“You think that now,” he teases, as Oliver takes the proffered hand and follows him upstairs.

When they’re in their pyjamas and lying in bed curled up around one another Elio speaks again.

“Oliver.”

“Mm?”

“Are you actually upset that I took Grace out and let her have alcohol?”

Oliver gives a quiet sigh.

“Not really, I guess,” he admits. “Not anymore. I think I was just… upset that she doesn’t seem to need me as much anymore.”

“That’s what happens,” Elio says. “Kids grow up, and they stop needing you as much.”

“But she _does_ need _you,”_ Oliver argues softly. “You’re the one who can help her best with the things she needs guidance with now.”

“…You’re still her father,” Elio supplies with a kiss to his husband’s neck, from where he’s nestled in his arms. 

“Mm, you are too though,” Oliver breathes, too tired to argue, or say much more tonight.

“Oliver?” Elio says again a few minutes later, almost too tired but needing to say this one last thing.

“Mm?”

“…If it helps you feel less old, your ass is definitely not an old man ass.”

Oliver can’t keep a laugh in at that.

“Thank you,” he says. “Now go to sleep.”

“Mm, okay…”

**Author's Note:**

> Thought I'd end on a fluffy moment :'))
> 
> I was toying with the idea of doing something with when Stefani broke her hip and all the stuff that led to ARTPOP, but idk - thoughts?
> 
> Please tell me what you think! ❤️❤️


End file.
